


No Refunds or Exchanges

by badwolfbadwolf



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Deputy Derek Hale, Deputy Stiles Stilinski, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Getting Together, M/M, Masturbation, Misunderstandings, Pining, Versatile Derek Hale, Versatile Stiles Stilinski, deportation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 05:12:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2839274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badwolfbadwolf/pseuds/badwolfbadwolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is the newest deputy in the Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department, and has maybe just been a little in love with Derek Hale since Stiles had made a fool of himself in front of him at the SD summer picnic a few years ago.  Being married to him—only for the sake of not getting deported—is going to suck in new and unusual ways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Refunds or Exchanges

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SpectralProngs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpectralProngs/gifts).



> Happy sterek secret santa fest! Many millions and gazillions of thanks to my wonderful beta and friend [eeyore9990](http://eeyore9990.tumblr.com)! YOU ARE THE BEST. 
> 
> Also, I did research on deportation. A fair amount. I'm sure I got something wrong though, so I apologize in advance for any mistakes made on that end!

Stiles’ earliest memories were of playing with a rabbit that lived in the hutch in the backyard of Scott’s house, just down the road. It was a brown little thing, and so fluffy, and that was about all he could recall on the subject. Second was his mother kissing him at bedtime, tucking him in, singing him that one soft lullaby that he couldn’t remember all the words to anymore so he’d made up his own instead in the years since. 

But his most vivid memories were of being in his dad’s office at the Sheriff’s Department, watching his dad work, bent over his large desk with a cup of coffee and his glasses on. He remembered the smell of the paper, the dust on the filing cabinets, and the way the light shined through the slanted blinds and right into his eyes when he sat in the wooden interview chair after school. And his favorite thing was riding in the squad car, feeling like he was _so cool_ , because he was going to go out and catch the bad guys and turn on the big, whirring lights and be just like his dad. 

The deputies were like his uncles, always around at family parties and dropping by on Saturday afternoons or sometimes having a Sunday dinner while his dad grilled and Stiles helped his mom make margaritas even though he was way too young to be mixing drinks in a blender. And when his mom had passed there was none of that for a while, just solitary Sunday meals in terrible silence, Stiles telling his dad to lay off the salt and definitely no more margaritas. And Stiles stopped going to visit his dad at work so much.

When Stiles turned fifteen, he started noticing Lydia Martin, her short skirts and red lips, the way she refused to even _look_ in Stiles direction doing nothing to dull his interest. But then when he turned sixteen he started to notice boys, too. Jackson Whittemore may have been the biggest ass on the planet, but _damn_ was he pretty. And Stiles was too shy to do anything about it in either direction, his long limbs and clumsy self enough to keep him free from dating _anyone_ , not through any choice of his own, so he didn’t even have to worry about it. 

But the day that Stiles was eighteen, fresh from spring finals at Berkeley and at the Sheriff’s Department summer picnic, he’d been introduced to the new deputy, Derek Hale. Stiles about thought he was going to pass out from how utterly gorgeous the man was, thick muscles making his sleeves look like the seams might rip, and eyes that Stiles couldn’t even describe because they were too many colors. 

But then Derek had opened his mouth and said, in a condescending sort of way, “You want to be a deputy, kid?”, and all warm thoughts completely whooshed right out of Stiles. Because, yeah, he was going to get a degree in Criminal Justice in three years, thank you. And then he’d be going to the Academy. And then he’d be the best deputy in the SD and kick Derek Hale’s butt all the way across Beacon Hills county. Because _of course_ he was going to work for the Sheriff’s Department, just like his father, and that was how things were going to happen.

Stiles finished in three years. The Academy was a little rough on his spastic body, but he was smart and determined to get there no matter how tough it was. At twenty-two, he was the youngest Deputy in the Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department, and on his first day, all Stiles could think was, _’Derek Hale can suck my dick.'_ Derek was off on vacation the whole first week Stiles worked, and Stiles tried not to let it bother him that he couldn’t lord it over the jerk.

***

Stiles didn't know how he got to be the 'doughnut guy' at work, but he was. Perhaps it was because he was still the newest deputy on the force, or because he'd brought them that first day wanting to make a good impression, but now he was stuck bringing them every single day. And damn it all, it was getting a little pricey, and keeping his dad's hands off them was no easy task. It was hard enough trying to prove that he wasn't the spindly little kid who used to hang around the Sheriff's office after school, trying to help his dad out with cases. He was an adult now, and a deputy, the equal of anyone there. And he wanted to be taken _seriously_ , dammit.

“Can you hand me one of those chocolate-frosted ones?” Parrish asked as he scooched his chair closer. The two of them were on paperwork detail this morning, stuck inside the box-like front office, only the squeaking of chairs and the occasional phone ring to break up the monotony.

Stiles rolled over to the orange box and flipped it open, seeing that there was only a plain cake doughnut left, and one Long John. He reluctantly reached for it, trying to remind himself that he _hadn't_ bought that particular one for a certain broody deputy who would be coming back around lunch time. Plenty of people liked Long Johns. Plenty of people smiled sweetly when Stiles handed them a doughnut. Plenty of people looked like rugged, dirty lumberjack angels, especially when they got a little bit of chocolate frosting on their top lip and had to lick it off.

Blinking, Stiles shook his head and dropped a napkin and the pastry in Parrish's hand, trying to banish the thoughts. Because no matter how attractive Derek Hale looked in his deputy's uniform, he was still kind of an emotionally stunted, closed off asshole to Stiles. And well, to everyone in general, but most particularly to Stiles. Even though he’d only gotten more attractive with every passing SD Christmas party Stiles had seen him at as he was finishing college. Derek was still a jerk.

“Try not to get frosting on your incident reports, boys,” the sheriff said merrily as he breezed by the two of them, picked up the remaining doughnut, and then slammed his door shut before Stiles could even get a word in. Stiles frowned but turned back to his desk, the stack in his 'in' box looking both daunting and tedious.

“Cheers,” said Parrish, raising the doughnut and taking a huge bite before swiveling his chair back around to face his computer.

Stiles nodded though the man had already turned, cracking his knuckles and getting back to it. Paperwork was his favorite. Right.

***

A commotion at the front door had Stiles looking up quickly, hopping to his feet as he saw Derek Hale barging through the doors propelling a struggling man in handcuffs in front of him. His partner, Greenberg, was right at their heels, the perp wriggling futilely and yelling out a string of colorful curse words.

“We got it covered, Stilinski,” Derek barked out when Stiles tried to head their way for some back-up assistance. Fucking Derek. It _looked_ like they had it covered, but Stiles was just trying to be helpful. And besides, it was department procedure to assist when necessary. Derek didn't have to be so flippant all the time. Just because he was one of the few werewolves on the force didn't mean he didn't need _any_ help. 

Greenberg gave him a mock salute as they made their way to the holding cells in the back, and Stiles flopped back down into his seat, flicking his pencil back and forth before bouncing on his chair and then going back to his paperwork.

An hour later, Derek walked back through the room, stopping at the box of doughnuts on the break table and frowning at its empty contents before walking out without a word.

And dammit. Stiles should've saved that Long John.

***

Stiles was just on his way back from his lunch break when his father's voice stopped him, calling from inside his office, voice muffled. “Can you come in here, son?”

Stiles froze, immediately confused because his dad never called him 'son' at work. It was always Deputy, or Stilinski, or Stiles, but not son. They tried to keep their family relationship separate from anything going on at the office, for the sake of professionalism. Even though no one cared about it except Stiles.

“What's up?” Stiles said as he swung into the room, trying to keep it casual. Seated at the chair in front of his dad's desk was a woman in a navy suit who looked a bit pinched, her pants wrinkled and a little too long. She was frowning slightly, her glasses pulled down her nose making her look like an old librarian who was secretly an alien that Stiles used to have nightmares about when he was little.

“You should sit down,” the sheriff said, gesturing to the other seat, and Stiles obliged, feeling a bit like he was in trouble though he had no reason to be. He looked between the two of them, eyes pausing on his dad with a questioning raise of his eyebrows. “Stiles, this is Martha Miller of the Bureau of Immigration and...”

“Customs Enforcement office,” she finished for him, smiling blandly. “I'm afraid I have some bad news.” Her voice was friendly but impersonal, like it was straining her to sound pleasant. 

Stiles felt his stomach drop into his feet. This felt startling close to the time that he'd been called into the principal's office, only to be told that his dad was picking him up so they could go see his mother in the hospital. He felt his heart hammering suddenly, his palms sweaty.

“Well, go on, then,” Stiles said, unable to wait a second longer.

“Is your full name Szyszec Stilinski?”

Stiles was even more confused now, and he answered slowly, “Yes.”

“And do you reside at 928 Brimmer Street?”

“Yes. That’s my apartment, why?”

The woman ignored him, not even looking up from her list of whatever it was she was referring to, and Stiles wrung his hands together in nervousness. 

“And you've been with the Beacon Hills Sheriff's Department since January of this year?”

“Yes.” Stiles’ palms slipped and he placed them on the armrests, growing more and more perplexed by the second.

“And you were born in Pyrzyce, Poland, on the date of April the first, 1995?”

And that was the point that Stiles got even _more_ nervous, because what the hell was this about? Stiles wasn't sure why this felt more like an interrogation than someone relaying bad news to him, but he knew he wasn't in any type of position to be asking questions, especially not with his dad glowering uncomfortably at them from across the big desk.

“Yes.”

“I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but when you first applied at the Sheriff's Department several months ago, your application was flagged in our agency. And due to an unfortunate amount of budget cuts, we've been unable to deal with these types of situations in as timely a manner as would be preferred. The long and the short of it is—”

Here Stiles leaned forward in his chair, his hands slipping off of each other, so he grabbed the armrests instead.

“—that it appears that your US citizenship status is not valid. It seems that you have a social security number and a tax identification number, but upon further investigation, there was some incomplete paperwork involving your birth in the city of Pyrzyce and your mother's status as a citizen of Poland. Which means that you are also, in fact, a citizen of Poland. And not of the United States.”

“I don't—” Stiles bit his lip, not understanding. “What?” His dad was frowning even further, arms crossed over his broad chest and leaning back now.

“We do apologize for the time it took to investigate this issue, but it appears that you will be unable to work for the Sheriff's Department or anywhere else, in fact, as you are not actually legally allowed to do so in this country. And, furthermore—” Here she paused, shooting the sheriff an almost frightened look, and Stiles wondered what could possibly be worse than not being able to work for the Sheriff's Department anymore. 

“Furthermore, you'll be required to return to your country of birth. I’m here to serve you this notice in person, as you are an officer of the law, and as a courtesy to you. You will be required to attend a hearing with an immigration judge to verify this information and, upon verification, the judge will approve the deportation. In that case, if you’d like to appeal the decision and would like to apply for relief of deportation, you may then be issued a second hearing. I have a packet of information for you here which explains this all in detail.”

Stiles accepted the manila folder but didn't open it, staring confoundedly at the silver clasp that was all that lay between him and his imminent doom. They sat in an uncomfortable silence for a long minute, Stiles shuffling his feet and finally looking up to meet his father's eyes.

“I investigated, Stiles. It seems like... when I met your mother... Well, you _were_ born in Poland, as you know. But what we didn’t really ever tell you was... your mother and I weren't married at the time. I was stationed in Germany when we met first and then was deployed to Bosnia not long after. When I found out she was pregnant, I came back as soon as I could. Unfortunately, that was about two months after you were born.”

Stiles sat gobsmacked by this new news. He'd known he was born in Poland. He hadn't known his parents weren't married when he was born. It was like finding out Santa Claus wasn't real. And he wasn't a child, he was totally fine with liberal-mindedness. He really wouldn't have cared at all. But he'd thought that was something his parents would actually have _told_ him.

“I thought she'd filed all the paperwork correctly. You were able to attend school and get loans, and work here for christ's sake.”

“Dad.” Stiles could feel tears start to well up, and he didn't want to cry in front of this frumpy bureaucrat in his dad's office. At the place where he fucking _worked_. But not anymore. Because ho _ho_ , he was a Polish citizen.

“I'm sorry, son.”

A knock at the slightly-ajar door startled them out of their odd funk, and Stiles wiped at his eyes with his sleeve only to see the exact person he didn't want to see at that moment. Derek peeked his stupidly attractive head through the door, looking less pissed off than usual. He was even smiling, what the fuck?

“Hey, babe. I was just seeing if you were about done here so we could take off. I have some lasagna for tonight.”

Stiles blinked about twenty times, frozen on his seat as Derek Hale – Derek _S._ Hale – slid over and kissed him on the cheek.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt,” Derek said easily, resting his hand on the back of Stiles' chair and letting the side of his leg lean into Stiles' shoulder in a gesture mimicking familiarity.

“Oh, you were, uh—” Stiles bit his lip, not even knowing what to say. “Derek, this is. We're kind of. This isn’t the best time, Derek—”

Derek glanced among the three of them sitting uncomfortably in the room and seemed like he was letting the enormity of whatever it was that was happening finally register. And then he frowned in that beautiful way that Derek had, and that was more familiar to Stiles than any of this smiling, friendly baloney.

“What's going on? If something's going on with Stiles, then it's my business, too.” Derek straightened up all businesslike, looking every bit like an Officer of the law with a capital O, and it was a bit intimidating, honestly. Stiles totally would've gotten a fear boner if he wasn't so busy being depressed about his life being flipped-turned upside down a la Fresh Prince.

“Well, son, maybe you better sit down,” the sheriff said stiffly.

Stiles opened his mouth to say 'what the hell, I am already sitting down,' but then Derek plopped down in the remaining chair, and suddenly Stiles _got it_.

“This is a matter for Mr. Stilinski, alone, sir. I'm sorry, but I'm not at liberty to discuss it with... others.”

“Well Stiles is my fiancé, and if there's any type of trouble, I damn well want to know about it, too.” And though Stiles had kind of known this was where Derek was headed with all the smiling and stuff, to hear him say the word _fiancé_ was like Stiles had nodded off and was dreaming. And it was a very odd, weird, crazy dream that wasn’t at all like most of his dreams featuring Derek.

At Derek’s words the frumpy woman straightened up, looking a bit surprised and then delighted. “Oh. Oh! Well in that case.” She sorted through some paperwork on the desk in front of her, handing Stiles a separate, large packet, and circling a few bullet points. “You have the opportunity to present this information at your hearing, as I mentioned. As you'll see at bullet point 3a, if you are married to a US citizen, you are considered a citizen as well. You will still have to prove the validity of your marriage, pass a state visit, and be on an unpaid leave from your job until the situation can be sorted out and you can receive a new, verified social security number. But you won't have to leave the country. Assuming you pass all the requirements. And marriage fraud is a crime, as you know.” She smiled sweetly, though, and Stiles felt like he should be thanking Derek or smiling back at the woman at least, but given the whirlwind of the last twenty minutes he could hardly find a single thing to say.

“Great,” Derek said, reaching forward to take the packet from the woman and grabbing the manila folder from Stiles' lap. “Our wedding is in four weeks, so what fortuitous timing.” He said the words without even a hiccup, lips curved up warmly, the woman smiling back at him with a slight flush to her cheeks. 

Damn Derek Hale for being attractive to everyone, and perfect, and great with words when he wanted, and now for promising to fucking marry him. Marry him! Stiles couldn't even wrap his head around it. He was going to have to get married to Derek Hale. Legally. Legally bound. And probably forever. 

“Well your shift is done, Stiles. I think you should get on home now. With Derek.” The sheriff sounded way less good at the acting thing than Derek did, but the woman smiled politely anyhow and began to gather up her things and pack them back into her briefcase.

“Yeah. Okay.” Stiles felt like he couldn't even think straight, and when he stood it was like his feet were not under his own control. Derek steered him out of the room, his hands on Stiles' shoulders firmly until they reached the parking garage.

They didn't speak at all the entire time Stiles got into Derek’s car and fastened his seatbelt, and during the fifteen minute drive it took to get to Derek's apartment. Which Stiles had never seen before.

He followed Derek out of the car like an automaton, grabbing the sliding door when Derek held it for him, and toeing off his shoes in the entrance of the top story apartment. Derek dropped his keys into a silver bowl on a table and then just walked inside, not even bothering to say anything.

Stiles tried to speak. He tried to say words multiple times, but nothing was coming out. Derek went and got two Cokes from the fridge and set them on the table, sipping his quietly while Stiles just gawked. The silence must have lasted for a good ten minutes before Stiles finally flopped down on the armchair adjacent to Derek's seat on the couch. And then he started to laugh. Loud, hoarse laughter that turned into a cough and then Stiles was choking and covering his mouth with his sleeve, feeling embarassed to the umpteenth degree.

“What were you _thinking?_ ” was the first thing out of Stiles' mouth instead of something nice like, thank you for giving up your life and autonomy and everything so that I'm not fucking deported from the country.

Derek tensed up at the words, setting his pop can down a little harder than necessary and crossing his arms. They were both still wearing their work uniforms, and though tan looked good on exactly _no one_ , Derek was making it work. Derek. His _fiancé_.

“You're welcome,” Derek said gruffly, and Stiles could tell he kind of wanted to get up and leave him there to stew.

“Okay, sorry. That was a jerk thing to say. But really. Okay, no. What were you thinking?”

“Gee, Stiles. How about I overheard that woman saying how you were going to have to _leave the country_. Plus, no one else in the department is single so I figured I could be the one to—”

“Oh my god, you'd be the one to _take one for the team?_ Is this a pity marriage? Is it because I'm a little clumsy and spilled that coffee on you the one day? Because seriously, you _know_ I didn't mean to.”

“Well it's not like I'm marrying you for fun, is it?”

Stiles frowned and crossed his arms, a little irritated that he had no idea where any other rooms were in Derek's – their – apartment, so he could storm off and sulk. Not like he could see any in the huge expanse of the living room area, and what, was Derek fricking rich or what? 

“This is a terrible idea,” Stiles groused, slouching down further and lowering his eyebrows.

“Well you're fucking welcome!” And Derek did stand up and stomp off to the kitchen, opening and closing the refrigerator door loudly and then banging around in a cabinet. “I'm going for a run. Don't touch any of my things, and don't leave the house in case that government lady is snooping around to see if we're for real. You better not screw this up, Stilinski. Cause I'm not giving up being a bachelor for a grumpy ass preteen who's so unappreciative he can't even go two seconds without telling me I'm crazy for wanting to help him out.”

Stiles sat back in the armchair and bit his lip, feeling like a real shit as he watched Derek rattle his way up the stairs.

***

By the time Derek got back from his run, Stiles had moved off the couch and explored the main floor. It was a wide-open space, huge floor-to-ceiling windows occupying one entire wall, and a spiraling staircase on the left, presumably leading to the bedrooms. Stiles blushed even thinking the word bedroom, and had his nose buried in a crossword puzzle book when Derek clanked open the metal sliding door.

“Hey,” Derek said, and Stiles had almost forgot for a moment how stunningly attractive Derek was. 

He was wearing a white tank top that was soaked through, and while that might have been disgusting on anyone else, on Derek it just made the thin material cling to his multitude of muscles. And he knew there were weight and measurement requirements to be part of the SD, but _damn_ Derek looked good. Stiles slunk down in his chair a bit, feeling bodily inadequate and stupid for his outburst earlier.

They didn’t talk, though, and Derek went up the stairs breathing heavily. Stiles tried to tune out the water noises that filtered through pipes in the wall, knowing for sure that Derek was _naked_ and just a few hundred feet away. Stiles wandered to the kitchen as he waited for Derek to come down, the awkwardness expanding as he looked in Derek’s fridge and realized he was hungry but didn’t want to touch anything because this really wasn’t his house, and boy was this weird.

“Is frozen pizza alright?” Derek asked, surprising Stiles with his catlike grace. Stiles shut the fridge quickly and nodded. “I’m not much of a cook, sorry.” 

“Well good thing you’re marrying me, then,” Stiles said with a half-grin, immediately regretting the words. “I, er. I have a lot of experience cooking for my dad.”

Derek nodded, brushing past Stiles, the clean smell of soap and deodorant strong for a moment until Stiles stepped away. As they waited for the oven to preheat, neither met each other’s eyes, Stiles feeling ridiculous now that Derek was in sweatpants and he was still in his work uniform.

“Look, er. Are we really gonna do this?” Stiles said after the silence became unbearable, and he saw something unreadable flicker over Derek’s face before he looked up with a carefully neutral expression.

“Yeah,” Derek said softly. “I meant it. If it means keeping you from leaving the country then that’s worth, you know, a little bit of... weirdness.”

“Thanks, dude,” Stiles said, and then he turned away before he got even more embarrassed. His skin was always so sensitive, and he knew his cheeks must be blushing. Because people didn’t do things like this for him. Big, grand, sweeping things. Even if Derek _had_ labeled getting married to Stiles as “weird.”

“So we get through the one month, get married and then we can go live our separate lives?”

Stiles nodded, confused by his conflicting feelings on the matter. “Yeah, and I’ll look into the paperwork, because I’m not really sure my mom… I mean… how could she mess it up that bad?”

Derek smiled and there was a wistful sweetness to it that Stiles had never seen before, beautiful and sad at the same time. “Sometimes moms make mistakes, too, Stiles.” His hand was brief on Stiles’ shoulder as he passed him, heading off to the couch, and then Stiles was left alone in the kitchen with his thoughts.

***

“Okay, so,” Derek said, standing up from the couch at about 10 p.m. and looking supremely awkward. “You can get some things from your apartment tomorrow, but in the meantime… I can try and find some sweatpants. I might have some old ones that might… fit you.”

Stiles wasn’t sure if he was more insulted or embarrassed to be talking about wearing Derek Hale’s too-small sweatpants, and then his mind immediately flipped to sleeping arrangements.

“Are you gonna… is… I can sleep on the couch, bro. It’s your house and all. Or, a guest room?”

Derek stared at him for what seemed like an entire minute before turning around. “This couch sucks. And we should act like we’re engaged. What if they come in and see your stuff set up like this is your bedroom?”

“I really don’t think it’s gonna matter that much…” Stiles said, trailing off as his palms got sweaty. He followed Derek like a puppy up the staircase, pausing when they reached the area that was Derek’s bedroom. It was loft-style, with no walls, and Stiles swallowed, thoughts of sleeping in the guest room immediately dashed.

Derek headed over to a black dresser lined up against the wall, fumbling through and pulling out some gray sweatpants and a faded Beacon Hills Fitness Champion t-shirt that looked like Derek could have worn it when he was about sixteen.

“Seriously, you fit in this at one point?” Stiles jibed, holding up the shirt and wondering if _he_ would look ridiculous wearing it.

“I’m just big boned,” Derek said a bit defensively and Stiles just barely stayed the laugh that was on his tongue, because in no world was Derek Hale fat. He must be sensitive about it, though, so Stiles filed that information away and resolved to be nicer. Derek was saving him from deportation after all. And would be sleeping next to him. Wearing matching sweatpants. Shit.

“What time’s your shift start tomorrow?” Derek asked, disappearing into the only doorway in the apartment, behind which was presumably a bathroom. 

Stiles heard the sink running and used the opportunity to strip out of his clothes quickly, tugging on the sweatpants first and grimacing at the way they slung around his hips precariously. He pulled on the shirt and it was tight but not unreasonably so, though it was short enough that there was definitely a gap between the fabric and his pants, and he tugged down on it self-consciously.

“Eight a.m.,” Stiles called, bending down to scoop up his pants and looking around for a laundry hamper. Should he put his clothes in there? Did they share a laundry hamper now?

Derek came out, toothbrush in his mouth and shirt off, and Stiles felt like he might have a stroke. “Yeah, I’m the same,” Derek said, mouth full of toothpaste, before disappearing back inside the little room. It was so domestic that it hurt a little, and Stiles debated for a few seconds and then picked a side of the bed to crawl into. He set his phone down on the nightstand and immediately was dismayed to realize he didn’t have a phone charger and would be at almost zero battery until he could get to his stuff tomorrow.

“Can you set the alarm on your phone?” Stiles asked, pulling the covers up to his chin and trying not to be nervous. Because he was about to have a platonic sleepover with his fake-fiancé. No big deal. “And, uh, is this your side? I can totally move.”

Derek grunted and Stiles wasn’t sure if that was a yes or no, but then he was pulling back the covers and sliding into the other side and yep, they were both in the same bed lying down. Derek and Stiles. Fiancés. Lying down in bed. Next to each other.

“Well. Okay,” Stiles said, because he had to say something.

“Goodnight, Stiles.”

“Goodnight, Derek.”

Stiles was stiff as a board and didn’t fall asleep ‘til well after Derek was snoring softly.

***

Stiles must have subconsciously been trying not to touch Derek during the night, because in his sleep he had somehow huddled all the way to the far edge of the bed and had the sheets wrapped tight around him. And the move had unfortunately—or fortunately, depending on your viewpoint— pulled all the covers off of Derek and he was lying sprawled on his stomach, a spiraling tattoo Stiles hadn’t known Derek had drawing Stiles' eyes across his muscled back. It was fricken bright in the loft, because tons of windows and no shades at all, ugh, and Stiles had to wait a minute after turning his phone back on to see what time it was.

6:45. Fuck. He turned over, trying to throw his arm over his eyes to block out some of the light, whining and pawing at Derek’s arm when the man rolled over and tried to pry the covers out from under him.

“No,” Stiles said without thinking, whacking Derek right on the shoulder and then freezing when he realized what he just had done. “Oh, sorry, dude,” he said quickly, drawing his hand back like he’d just touched fire. Derek responded by tugging hard until Stiles rolled over right onto his stomach, the sides of their knees touching.

“Too early,” Derek groused, and Stiles wholeheartedly agreed, wriggling further away and trying unsuccessfully to go back to sleep. After about twenty minutes of _not_ looking at Derek’s broad shoulders, Stiles finally rolled out of bed and over to the mythical bathroom.

He was just in the middle of brushing his teeth with his finger when he was struck by the paralyzing realization that no, actually, he _didn’t_ have to go to work. No, wait. Scratch that. He _couldn’t._ Wasn’t allowed to. By the government ban thingie whatever. He closed his eyes and counted to ten to get a grip on himself and then reopened them, staring at himself in Derek’s mirror. He looked ridiculous, hair sticking sideways in the back and mouth grossly slimy with toothpaste.

After rinsing his mouth out, Stiles didn’t really know what to do, so he sat down on the lip of Derek’s tub, brain not even totally online yet. And it really was a freaken nice bathroom, all brushed nickel and gray tile and one of those square glass showers with no edges. Did Derek do home improvement as a side job? Was Derek rich? Was Stiles going to be a rich house husband now? He wandered downstairs for lack of anything better to do and grabbed a plain bagel—ugh, could Derek be any more dull?— searching for a TV to occupy himself until his “better half” woke up.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Stiles muttered after completing a walk around the entire lower level of the loft and finding only a laptop and not a TV. He felt a little weird cracking it open, but he and Derek were about to be sharing _everything_ soon enough, so he sat on the couch, thrilled to find that Derek at least had a Netflix account. Though frankly he was shocked that an officer of the law wouldn’t even password protect his computer. Whatever. Derek defied all logic. Stiles passed the time watching old episodes of House Hunters International until he heard the telltale whoosh of water through the pipes and saw Derek heading down the staircase about fifteen minutes later.

He was wearing his shirt open, buttoning it as he walked, and Stiles’ mouth went completely dry. Derek was probably the most attractive, weirdest hippie person Stiles had ever met, and Stiles glanced away quickly so he didn’t seem like a freak for staring.

“How come you didn’t take a shower?” Derek asked by way of greeting, bee-lining to the fridge and pulling out a carton of yogurt. Plain yogurt. Ew.

“Yeah, see, I forgot that I actually can’t go to work,” Stiles replied, setting the laptop down on the table. “I figured I’d go to my apartment today and get some things, but other than that. I don’t know, dude.”

Derek nodded, drinking straight from the milk carton — again, ew— and putting his things back in the fridge. They were quiet for a moment while Derek buttoned his shirt up and found his shoes, and Stiles stared at his own socks, tugging up on his sweatpants and trying to look casual on the couch.

“What are you gonna say to people today? Everyone’s gonna know. This is a terrible plan. They think you hate me, so…”

The frown on Derek’s face was deep, his big caterpillar eyebrows drawing together, and Stiles fidgeted awkwardly. He wasn’t good with silences, and that’s all Derek seemed to do. “I don’t hate you, Stiles,” Derek said after a long minute, and Stiles wasn’t sure he got what that meant. Didn’t Derek just snap at him yesterday for trying to be helpful? Didn’t Derek go out of his way to avoid talking to Stiles whenever possible? Didn’t Derek think he was clumsy and dumb and too skinny? Hadn’t he poked Stiles in the stomach last week and told him he needed to bulk up?

“Well, you certainly act like it,” Stiles said under his breath, crossing his arms and wriggling his toes in his socks.

Derek didn’t look any less annoyed than usual, and he walked past Stiles without looking at him, stopping at the table by the door and picking up his keys from the bowl.

“Wait!” Stiles called, standing up and tugging down on his shirt to hide his tummy. “People are going to ask you questions. You’ll need stories. Are you prepared? How did we get engaged? Did you get me flowers? Where was our first date? People will want to know how you got this hot commodity off the market.”

Derek rolled his eyes, actually _rolled_ them, and then said, infuriatingly, “Trust me.”

“But I—” Stiles began, but he was cut off by the grating squeal of metal as Derek slid the big door open and then waved before slamming it shut.

And then Stiles was alone in Derek’s— their— apartment with no clothes, no car, a dying phone battery, and no TV.

***

Stiles had managed to use his last 2% of the battery on his phone to call his dad, who agreed to pick him up from Derek’s at lunchtime and take him to go get his car. He had to suffer through wearing his wrinkled uniform again because he _had_ crammed it in Derek’s laundry basket, his dad hardly saying any word on the matter other than a solemn, “I’m sorry, son.”

Stiles shook off the heavy hand on his shoulder, nodding to his dad and sliding into his own car, somewhat relieved he didn’t see any of the deputies on his way out of the SD parking garage. When he got home he showered in his own shower for probably the last time, gathered as many clothes as he could into a ratty suitcase, and stuffed in his phone charger, toothbrush, kindle, laptop and xbox. He looked at the bottom drawer of his nightstand sadly, deciding that there was no way he was going to risk bringing Mr. Dildo into Derek Hale’s Perfect Loft, and besides, that might get a bit awkward anyways with no walls and the bed sharing. He’d just have to hold off on the sex life for… a long time. Stiles gulped at the thought.

Hours later, after he’d made himself a drawer in Derek’s dresser by cramming all Derek’s socks in with his t-shirts, Stiles decided to go grocery shopping. He bought as much junk food as he could shove into his cart, irrationally irritated at Derek and his neat industrial space and health food, and wondering if he could fatten him up with HoHos. 

Derek was infuriatingly silent over dinner, not answering any of Stiles’ barrage of questions on what he told people at the station about their engagement and everything.

Bed that evening was slightly better at least, because Stiles had his own pajamas, and Derek read quietly to himself until turning out the light and rolling over with only a grunt as a ‘goodnight.’

***

The following day Derek actually had off, and Stiles had sort of gotten used to the bright light of the loft in the morning and was able to sleep in until about 8:30. Though he had horrifyingly woken to his foot touching Derek’s shin and had drawn back immediately, worried Derek would think he was trying to cop a feel like some big weirdo.

Stiles showered, using a towel that he now considered ‘theirs’, then decided to make breakfast for Derek because that was a nice thing to do and Stiles was working on being nice. It was hard sometimes, though. Derek was playing nice, too, actually wearing a shirt and saying thank you when Stiles handed him a plate of chocolate chip pancakes.

“They want to throw us an engagement party,” Derek opened with, and Stiles nearly dropped the spatula.

“A _what_? Why?” 

“Because we’re engaged.”

“Well, I know that, dummy. But they don’t even like us. Me. You. I mean. Separately, they don’t like us.”

“They like you fine,” Derek said, waving his fork and then shoveling in a huge bite. And there was the freaken chocolate on his lip again and, holy jesus, Stiles was going to lose it. This was never going to work and he would basically be confined to this house forever and would have to lie to everyone he knew for the rest of his life and die alone sans-dildo with Derek frowning at him disapprovingly.

“No. They like that I bring doughnuts. They like that I do the grunt work because I’m the low guy on the totem pole. And everyone thinks you’re—” Stiles paused abruptly, looking away from Derek’s raised eyebrows and not even sure what he was about to say. “Very, very nice.”

Derek rolled his eyes again; it seemed like that was becoming a _thing_ with them. “I told them yes.”

That time Stiles _did_ drop the spatula, not even bothering to pick it up. “But why? People will know, Derek. They’ll _know_. This is a disaster.”

“You’re going to have to leave the house eventually. And we have to fool the government people anyhow, so this will be good practice making it seem real. And maybe we should go on a date too. You know, beforehand. So we can practice not seeming like we can’t stand being around each other.”

And that kind of hurt, because, ouch, Derek couldn't stand being around him?

“The party’s on Sunday, so I was thinking we should go out tonight. And maybe we should go to IKEA to buy another dresser for you, because you wrinkled all my shirts and I don’t think you know how much time ironing takes.” He looked pointedly at Stiles’ pajama shirt— his _pajama_ shirt, for crying out loud— and Stiles huffed and crossed his arms over his chest self-consciously. They stared each other down for a moment before Stiles finally lost the nerve to keep looking in Derek’s stupidly gorgeous eyes, and he dropped his hands loudly on the table and let out his breath noisily.

“Fine,” Stiles ground out, grabbing his fork and stabbing it into the pancakes for emphasis.

“Fine,” Derek said. “I’m picking the dinner place since you’re being so pleasant about it.”

“Fine,” Stiles repeated, and his jaw almost hurt from chewing so hard.

***

IKEA was terrible if only because it was a Saturday and Stiles valued his life more than dollar meatballs. At least Derek had promised him food later. For their date.

He sat with his arms crossed in Derek’s Camaro—his _second_ car, what an asshole—a bit irked that he was in the passenger’s seat. Why was Derek always the one driving and making financial decisions and bringing home the big bucks while Stiles sat at home making him breakfast? It was unfair, frankly. And a little sexist. Stiles didn’t want everyone thinking Derek was the top always. Maybe _he_ liked to top, too, sometimes. Stiles could totally top someone like Derek Hale. That was believable. Sure.

They pulled up to a low-key Italian restaurant, and as they walked in and were seated, Stiles had to at least admit Derek had good taste in food. Plus he’d ordered a whole bottle of wine. So that was a positive, and normally Stiles only took two glasses to get sloshed, so the evening was certain to be a success. Liquid courage was always helpful when dealing with uncomfortably awkward conversations with people you didn’t know very well.

“So, really, what’d you tell them about us?” Stiles said after they’d placed their orders and were chomping down on overly crusty bread. Derek took a moment to swallow and Stiles had a hard time looking away from the way his throat moved beneath the dark scruff of his beard. It was quite mesmerizing, really.

Derek smiled, and Stiles thought he must be growing numb to the absolute beauty of it because all he saw was pointy teeth and a bit of deviousness. 

“Alright, what'd you say?”

“We’re getting married at the courthouse in a few weeks. Our first date was at Applebee’s, and you proposed to me over beers and pizza. We wanted to keep it quiet because we didn’t want it to be weird at work, but we figured everyone would know soon enough.”

Stiles frowned thoughtfully. “Okay, the beer and pizzas is good. I like that. But first date at Applebee’s? Come on. I’m a classier guy than that. I wouldn’t put out for a sub-par hamburger.”

“It was the first thing that popped into my mind.”

Stiles bit back a snarky remark, remembering that he was supposed to be being nice to Derek. “Alright. Life stories I should know. Spit ‘em out.”

“You’re so romantic, sweetie.”

“Oh, shut up. Did you pee your pants in first grade? What embarrassing stories might your sister know about you? Did you have braces? Have you ever been to Europe? Where did you go last Christmas?”

“I spent last Christmas with Cora. She lives in San Francisco now, not like you’d remember that. She only went to high school with you and used to come by the Sheriff’s Department to poke you in the ribs right up until last month. I think she kind of liked you, actually.”

“What? No,” Stiles said, not even believing it for a second. Cora hated his guts more than Derek did. “Alright, go on. Braces? Were you ever a vegetarian? Do werewolves even like vegetables? When did you lose your virginity?”

“No one’s going to ask you _that_ ,” Derek said, voice growing huffy.

“These are just background things boyfriends would know. Er, fiancés,” Stiles corrected. The waitress arrived with their food and Stiles dug in and twirled his spaghetti on his big spoon before slurping it into his mouth.

“Alright, and let me see what there’s to know about you, Stiles.” Derek poked at his own meatball, cutting it neatly into four sections and spooning one in his mouth, a bit of marinara sauce sticking to his beard. “Younger than me by three years, made a fool of yourself at the SD picnic two years ago when you threw a water balloon at my partner’s head and then tripped over the propane grill trying to get away. Now you constantly make up for it by bringing in doughnuts and volunteering to do paperwork that really is other people’s to do.”

“I’m not compensating for anything,” Stiles said, face growing hot, because Derek was right. Stiles felt like he had to prove something, and he was annoyed Derek could see that so clearly without even trying.

“First kiss?” Stiles asked, sipping on his wine and letting it roll over his tongue. It was a nice red; Derek really did have good taste.

“Ours?” Derek asked, wiping his mouth off with his cloth napkin. And aw, the marinara was gone now. Sad.

“Yeah, ours.”

“Outside your apartment. You totally put out for a sub-par hamburger. You’re kind of slutty like that.”

“I am _not_!” Stiles said with a flush, throwing his napkin at Derek. “Maybe it’s because you were so freaken insistent on walking me to my door like the dorky gentleman you are and like, you really wanted to book that second date, Mister.”

Derek rolled his eyes for the millionth time, but Stiles laughed congenially at his antics. 

“You were smitten,” Stiles said, his voice slightly teasing.

“You proposed to me.”

“Yeah, well.” Stiles shrugged, because who _wouldn’t_ propose to Derek? Sure he was kind of annoying and only ate gross food— well, minus the meatballs from right now— but you know, he was also the hottest man Stiles had ever seen in his life. Counting TV and movies and everything.

Derek paid for dinner, and Stiles only let him because he literally had no income now, and not much savings. Though living with Derek would save him a bundle. At least temporarily. He didn’t know how long they’d have to keep up their little facade, but it seemed like it would be at least… a while. The evening wasn’t exactly what Stiles would consider a fun date, but at least it wasn’t horribly awkward. And Derek wasn’t acting like a grumpy snow monster anymore. 

The ride home was companionable, and it was only when Derek paused outside the big sliding metal door of the loft and turned to him that Stiles felt his heartbeat pick up.

“Hey, so the party’s tomorrow,” Derek said, hand hovering over the key in the lock, and Stiles didn’t know what he was getting at.

“Yeah?”

“We should like, practice. So we’re not weird.”

“I thought that’s what dinner was about. That and I learned that you used to like Rainbow Brite.”

“No, practice kissing. So it’s not weird. We can’t be weird around each other.”

How many times could Derek say ‘weird’? A lot, apparently. It made things even more weird.

“Wait, what?” Stiles said, and he felt his heart leap in his chest as Derek turned around and was suddenly _very close_ and right in Stiles’ personal space. It was dark in the hallway, Derek’s face shadowed and beautiful, and Stiles tried to keep his eyes from darting everywhere. Except then he just focused on Derek’s lips, and _holy crap_ they were getting closer and closer and then Derek was kissing Stiles. 

It started out kind of awkward, just two sets of lips pressed together, and Stiles knew he was stiff as a board and should be participating, but his brain really wasn’t able to put more together than _holy shitballs_. Then Derek brought his hands up, putting them on either side of Stiles’ neck and scooping up to cup his jaw, and then Derek’s _tongue_ was licking at him just a little, and Stiles just let his mouth open. And it’s not like he hadn’t been kissed before, not by a mile, but normally he was a little more prepared for it. Derek was soft and warm against him, his tongue gentle, and the brush of his beard as Derek pulled away was almost surreal.

“Guh,” Stiles said intelligently, eyes half-lidded and hands still awkwardly hanging at his sides. Derek pulled away, dropping his hands after a second and turning back to the door.

“That was. That was fine,” Derek said evenly, and Stiles both blushed and cringed, because crap he thought he was at least a better kisser than ‘fine.’ He fought not to touch his lips as he followed Derek into the loft, the feeling of toeing off his shoes and plopping on the couch no longer foreign.

Stiles let Derek go to bed first so he wouldn’t have to look at that handsome face and those stupidly pretty eyes and actually talk to him. He wasn’t sure if he could handle it at that point. He fell asleep and slept like crap, waking up to a ridiculous morning boner and a feeling of dread that he wasn’t going to make it through this marriage without either coming in his sleep and dying from embarrassment or getting his heart fricken broken because Derek was never ever going to feel the same butterflies about him.

And then Stiles remembered, hello, werewolf, Derek could _hear_ his heartbeat pick up, and crap, Stiles would have to be much more careful in the future. 

***

Derek had the gall to actually lay out a shirt for Stiles on the bed, and Stiles tried on three other ones before reluctantly admitting that the maroon color _did_ bring out his eyes.

“Hey, do we have to like, hold hands and shit?” Stiles called to Derek who was trimming his beard in the bathroom. “And don’t shave that off! It looks good!”

“I’m not shaving!” Derek yelled back, and when he came out Stiles felt his throat thicken. Derek had on one of his stupid thumbhole sweaters again, the kind that looked so fuzzy you could just stick your face right in the fabric and nuzzle it. It was an olive green color and had a few buttons on the neck part, and crap, Stiles wasn’t supposed to be noticing these things.

“You like my beard?” Derek asked, running his hand over it, and Stiles instantly wondered what it felt like. He’d only just brushed against Derek lightly during their kiss in the hallway yesterday, and Stiles needed to know if the dark hair was bristly or soft. And would it burn and leave red marks for everyone to see? Ugh, he was so screwed.

“Yeah,” Stiles said, turning so Derek wouldn’t see his face. He wasn’t sure he trusted himself to look neutral so he searched around for his shoes, finding one under the bed and one near the window.

“Come on,” Derek said, grabbing Stiles’ hand and pulling him over to the steps. He didn’t let go until they got to the car and Stiles felt sweaty and awkward, his heart thumping so loudly he was sure Derek could actually hear it. Hopefully he'd just write it off as nerves for the whole party thing. 

The party was being thrown at Stiles’ dad’s house, and though he’d assured Stiles that he had nothing to do with it, Stiles still felt an odd mix of guilt and betrayal. He hated dragging his dad into this farce, and he was also mad he had to pretend to be in love with Derek in the place where he’d had his first steps and hugged his mother so many times. 

At least it was only populated with work friends and acquaintances; Stiles’ dad had the decency to keep Scott out of it. He was Stiles’ only friend, really, and Stiles wanted him to stay as far away from this nonsense as possible. Plus with Scott out of state for vet school—well, what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. By the time he got back in the summer, Stiles would be out of Derek’s apartment, and though they’d be legally married, he wouldn’t have to _act_ like it anymore.

“Hey guys,” Greenberg said when they walked through the door, a few people applauding gaudily. The guy slapped them both on the shoulders, before drawing Derek into a hug. Stiles felt the oddest tinge of jealousy, because hey, that was his husband there, bucko. But also, he knew they’d been partners for a while, and while Derek and Greenberg weren’t besties, they definitely relied on each other and trusted each other. “So am I invited to the wedding?”

“Dude, that’s kinda rude,” Stiles said curtly, but Derek elbowed him and then slipped his hand around Stiles’ waist, smiling sweetly.

“I think we’re just doing a courthouse thing. Just family, you know, real small. We don’t want to make a big deal out of it.”

“Yeah, Der Bear here isn’t much of a partier, if you can believe it,” Stiles said, rubbing his side and then bumping Derek with his hips.

Greenberg snorted into his beer. “Der Bear?”

Derek looked red but had to go with it. “Yeah, well, we’re trying to save up for a honeymoon.” He could tell Derek was trying to rhyme ‘Stiles’ in his head to come up with some terrible nickname but was coming up blank, and it made Stiles laugh a little meanly.

“That’s alright,” Parrish said, coming up on the other side and sitting them down on the couch. “Where are you thinking of going?”

“Either a cruise or Jamaica,” Derek said immediately, rattling off answers to Parrish’s questions of all-inclusive or not, and if they were going to rent a car or not. Damn, apparently Derek was serious about this business.

Stiles was able to escape to the kitchen after a little while, and only his dad was in there, pulling some ice cubes out of the freezer and smiling lightly when he saw Stiles come in.

“Hey, son. Enjoying the party?”

Stiles started to roll his eyes but remembered how annoyed he was every time Derek did it, so he just kind of shrugged. “Thanks for throwing it for us, dad. And you know. Being supportive.”

His dad nodded, pulling some pop out of the fridge and arranging it in neat rows on the table. 

“Is Derek being good to you?”

Stiles nodded before thinking about it, and then as he did think about it, he really thought, yes, Derek was being good about the whole thing. Really nice. Though a bit annoying at times, but it was more than Stiles deserved, really. He owed Derek a lot.

“Right, cause, he knows as the sheriff I keep a loaded weapon by my side.”

“Dad, Derek works for the Sheriff’s Department, too. We all do. And is a werewolf. I don’t think he’s afraid of your loaded wolfsbane bullet firearm threats.” Stiles fought the eyeroll again, slightly amused at his dad’s protectiveness and also annoyed that he was being treated as the little kid again.

“Well, as your father, I feel like I should at least try to be fatherly and supportive.”

“You’re doing enough, Dad,” Stiles said, watching his dad close in on himself and feeling like he was helpless to stop it.

“Yeah, but I still feel like I should’ve known this was coming. I could’ve done something.” His dad played with the label on his beer bottle, a nervous habit they both had.

“There wasn’t anything you could’ve done,” Stiles said, trying to sound reassuring.

His dad frowned but nodded. His family was good at nodding. “I know, but. You’re my son.”

“And you’re my dad. And I love you.”

“I’m glad it’s Derek.”

Stiles swallowed. “Me too.” And the truth in those words was a little stinging.

Stiles gave his dad a quick hug and then made his way back to Derek, squeezing himself on the couch between him and someone’s girlfriend and trying not to look jumpy when Derek put his hand on his knee. A minute later he was tucked beneath Derek’s arm, and then when Derek got up to get a new drink he turned to give Stiles a brief peck on the lips. It felt nice, and Stiles wished for not the first time that this was all real.

The party broke up early and Derek surprised Stiles by hanging around to help him and his dad clean up. Stiles thought it was the first time he’d ever brought anyone home to his dad, and under any other circumstance he would’ve been thrilled things were going so well. Too bad it was all a lie.

***

Stiles used his free time to throw himself into research. And some wedding planning, but there really was very little to that other than getting a marriage license and making sure his dad and Cora were available on the date. Derek was taking care of clothes and rings, and they were all going out to dinner afterwards.

Once that was settled, Stiles immediately buried himself in the Internet and government websites, tracking down his paper trail from birth onward. The number of government agencies that he had to get usernames and passwords and pin numbers for was staggering, but Stiles was finally able to track down his birth certificate as well as that of his parents, their marriage license, and his school records. He also found his taxes from the last few years in a shoebox under his dad’s bed, and a bunch of finger paintings his dad must have been holding onto for twenty years.

From what he could tell, everything _looked_ like it was in order, but really, what did he know. He thought with chagrin that he might need a lawyer, because the nuance of Immigration Law, especially twenty-two years ago, was something Stiles didn’t think he could truly grasp no matter how many websites or old law books he read. Plus, he didn’t want to call the Immigration Office, because he needed them to think he was getting married, so all this stuff didn’t matter.

He had a vaguely unhappy feeling that if he _did_ get it all sorted out, he wouldn’t actually have to marry Derek. Which was absurd, because it wasn’t real, and Derek didn’t want to be marrying him, so of course that would be the better option. And that way they wouldn’t be married for an eternity. And Stiles would be free for other romantic entanglements. And so would Derek.

Stiles sent out a few emails, requesting information from both his elementary school and his college registrar’s office, but not really hopeful anything would come to fruition. And then Derek came home and they ate some frozen pizza again, and Stiles kind of forgot about it when Derek told him all about his day and how he’d made an important arrest. It made Stiles feel kind of happy, and they watched a movie together on the TV Stiles had dragged over from his old apartment.

It was nice. Stiles pretended they were just friends, just friends hanging out, so it didn’t hurt so much to think about how it was all actually pretend to Derek. Once again Stiles let Derek go to bed early so they wouldn’t have to be awake and staring at each other half-naked and pretending it wasn’t awkward at all.

***

Unfortunately, Stiles did end up staring at Derek in bed in the morning, because he woke up uncomfortably hard and humping into his own hand. He froze as soon as he was aware he was doing it, trying to see if Derek was faking sleep, or if his deep breathing was really real. Derek rolled over, though, letting out a half-snore and then yanking the blankets off of Stiles — what a jerk — and that finally made Stiles relax. Though he was still irritated about the covers.

Stiles rolled out of the bed as quietly as possible and snuck over to the bathroom, running the shower and feeling like a creeper as he lazily jacked himself while staring at Derek’s toothbrush and shaving products. Stiles finished himself off in the shower, trying so hard not to think of Derek but unable to stop the images from flickering through his brain right at the moment he was coming. Derek in his tank top, sweaty and warm, smiling so beautifully. Derek’s arm curled up behind his head as he read a book tucked into bed. Derek’s soft face in the morning light, before he woke up, beard thick and features smooth.

Stiles washed himself off shamefully, not thrilled with an orgasm followed by a dose of guilt, but it was the most action he’d seen in three weeks. Not like he had been hot on the dating scene before Derek, but he’d liked to jack off more than never. He had a vague thought about if Derek had masturbated since Stiles moved in, and Stiles immediately flushed, because _that_ was another thought he didn’t need to be thinking.

Stiles came out of the bathroom in only a towel because he hadn’t thought to bring in any clothes, and he startled and nearly dropped the darn thing when he saw Derek sitting on their bed, very much awake and scratching at his beard. And his shirt was on the floor. Stiles hoped to god that Derek hadn’t heard him, but he thought he’d been pretty quiet. But freaky werewolf hearing and all. Eek.

Nodding as he went over to the dresser, Stiles fought to keep one hand holding the towel up while he tried to open the top drawer with the other, embarassed when it stuck and he couldn’t quite jerk it open.

“Here,” Derek said, standing and tugging it open before fishing through Stiles’ underwear drawer for what seemed like an excessive amount of time. He pulled out Stiles’ only black pair and gave him a smirk, pushing them into Stiles’ chest and then sauntering away like he hadn’t just been touching Stiles’ underwear. And Stiles’ bare chest. 

As soon as Stiles heard the water running he unfroze and shoved on his clothes, hopping down the stairs as he put on his socks and nearly braining himself when he missed a step. 

He didn’t think he’d survive one more week of this, never mind whatever honeymoon period they had to share. He sat down at the kitchen table and pulled up his email, frowning when he saw that none of his inquiries had come back yet.

***

The actual wedding was brief and mostly painless, a fifteen minute thing inside a courtroom while Cora and the sheriff looked on. Derek looked dashing in his dark suit, beard neatly trimmed, and when he slipped the ring on Stiles’ finger, Stiles felt nothing but butterflies.

They kissed gently, just a brush of lips, and the smile and warm look in Derek’s eyes as they lingered close for just a moment was about enough to slay Stiles. 

And that was it, they were married, and Stiles was safe from deportation. And that really was it. No messy emotions. No loving vows. Legally bound forever and ever.

Stiles had left all the planning to Derek, so when they showed up at Applebee’s for their celebratory dinner, he had to burst out laughing.

“Please tell me you at least got a reservation,” he said, poking Derek in the ribs as he held open his car door for Stiles to slip out.

“You know I’m a romantic shmuck,” Derek said congenially, and they walked in hand-in-hand to the restaurant.

Cora and Stiles’ dad were only a minute behind them, the four of them settling into the booth and way overdressed for the restaurant, but they were a cozy bunch.

“Dinner’s on us,” Derek said easily when they had taken off their suit coats, wrapping his arm loosely around Stiles and tucking him in close.

“I think as the father of the groom or, er, one of the grooms, aren’t I supposed to be paying?” the sheriff said as they leafed through their brightly-colored menus.

“I think we’re not really doing things by the book here, Dad,” Stiles quipped, accepting his beer and taking a large gulp as soon as the waitress set it down.

“So what are we celebrating, folks?” she asked, and Stiles peered at her nametag which read “Jenny :)”.

“These two losers got married today!” Cora said, grinning, and Derek played his part and gave Stiles a squeeze on the shoulder.

“Oh, how awesome!” Jenny :) said, matching Cora’s grin with a blinding flash of teeth. “Have an appetizer on me! That’s so exciting.”

“Thank you,” Derek said, and it almost hurt Stiles to keep smiling so much. Derek turned to look at him and when Stiles turned to see what he wanted, Derek was very close, eyes dropping down to look at Stiles’ lips. The kiss wasn’t too racy, but there was a little bit of tongue this time, and then Derek drew back, smiling again and looking roguishly handsome, damn him. Stiles was sure he had the smitten newlywed look down pat. “That’s very kind of you.”

“Absolutely,” she said, clapping her hands and then skittering off after Stiles had pointed to the potato skins on the menu because he couldn’t really get two words out right at that moment.

Stiles leaned back against Derek and let out a sigh, and Derek hugged him a little tighter, whispering, “It won’t always have to be like this.”

And really, that hurt more than anything else did the entire day.

They suffered through dinner and a free cake, accompanied by candles and three singing waiters who stuffed the words ‘happy wedding day’ into the ‘happy birthday’ song. At least the cake was pretty good.

On the way out Cora said little, but Stiles’ dad hugged him hard, and then hugged Derek for an embarrassingly long time, too.

“You’re a good kid, Derek,” he said, taking Derek’s face in his hands. Stiles watched Derek get shy and blush, the keen reminder that Derek’s father would never be witnessing any of Derek’s life events a little too much like another kick in the heart.

“You too, Stiles,” the sheriff added after a minute, giving Stiles one more hug.

“Yeah, yeah, Dad, you’re being embarrassing.” But Stiles smiled, because he loved his dad to pieces, and his support meant more than almost anything in the world. Stiles just wished this were all a little different, because things would be blazingly joyful instead of bittersweet, and reality and fiction were so closely blurred in his mind that Stiles didn’t even know what to think anymore.

The two of them piled back in Derek’s car and Stiles sat with the plastic bag of leftovers on his lap, mulling over the last two hours. 

“Want to save the cake in the freezer til our anniversary?” Stiles mused as he buckled his seatbelt.

“Mmmm… no,” Derek said to the rear-view mirror as he put the car in reverse. “Don’t think it will make it through the night, if we’re being honest.”

“Jerk. Is this what married life has come to already?”

Derek chuckled good naturedly. “I’ll buy you a shake on the way home if you want.”

“I love you,” Stiles said. He turned beet red, because he didn’t really mean that he actually _loved_ Derek, but the words had slipped out without thought.

Mercifully, Derek said nothing, and ordered Stiles an extra brownie at the drive-through. They passed the rest of the ride in companionable silence, and it was only when they were back in the bedroom that Stiles put his foot in his mouth yet again.

“We don’t have to, like, consummate this for it to be official or anything, do we?” Stiles said with an awkward laugh, trying not to face palm for being such an idiot. Why did he even suggest such a stupid thing? It wasn’t like he was being serious. He _did_ know this wasn’t the fourteenth century. Sex with Derek was apparently on his mind, though.

“Just keep to your side of the bed, pudding pop,” Derek said as he stripped off his suit jacket and hung it carefully on a hanger. He undid the button on his pants, dropping the zipper and shucking them off like it was nothing, and Stiles turned around to give him some privacy. He still caught sight of Derek’s hairy calves from his peripheral vision, and Stiles struggled to undo his tie and not look.

“Pudding pop? Can’t I get something better?”

Derek snorted and Stiles risked a glance behind him, seeing that Derek was now shirtless, too, and was sitting on the bed to take off his dress socks.

“After the way you stuffed in three desserts, I think that’s quite fitting.”

“Alright, you have a point there,” Stiles said, and when Derek slipped under the covers, Stiles was stuck with the choice of going to change in the bathroom and therefore saying what Derek just did was weird. Or he could start taking off his own clothes.

He undid each button of his dress shirt, aware that Derek was looking at the movement of his fingers and the thought making his stomach flutter. He tried to go as quick as possible, rushing to turn off the lamp and then he jumped beneath the covers, shivering a little bit when they were cool against his mostly naked skin.

“Night, babe.”

“Night,” Stiles parroted back, and then Derek was kissing him briefly, such a quick thing that Stiles didn’t even have time to react before Derek was back on his side of the bed.

He stared stiffly at the ceiling, wondering if Derek had even _meant_ to do that, or was it some kind of pavlovian response to all the wedding and fake stuff they’d been doing lately. Stiles once again fought not to touch his own lips, feeling confused as ever to be sleeping in bed next to someone he liked a _lot_ and was now married to, and _not_ having sex with him. Or at least making out.

His life was so confusing.

It took a while for him to nod off, and he dreamed of Derek wearing a white tux and shoving a wedding cake into Stiles’ face.

***

Stiles and Derek only had five days to enjoy newly-wedded bliss before Stiles had to head to his hearing. The first one was preliminary, and he’d come armed with a boatload of research that he didn’t need at all, because as soon as the judge heard he was newly married a new hearing date was set. Stiles would have to have Derek speak, and provide one additional witness which he was pretty sure he would ask his dad. All in all, the whole thing was much easier than the few times he’d had to testify in court in an official capacity as a deputy.

Stiles decided to visit his dad at his office afterwards, vaguely hoping that Derek wouldn’t be in so he wouldn’t have to do any fake relationship things in front of anyone. He was getting a little tired of all the pretending, frankly, and he knew that was a bad attitude because he had the rest of his life that he had to be performing this little charade.

Luckily, Derek was still out running the rounds with Greenberg, and his dad was in his office with the door open.

“Hey, son,” he said, looking up when Stiles rapped on the door lightly. “How’d the hearing go?”

“What I’d expected. The next one’s set for two weeks.”

The sheriff nodded, dropping his pen and taking off his glasses to rub at his eyes. 

“I need a witness to testify about my marriage to Derek, if you’d be willing.”

“Yes, yeah, of course.”

Stiles settled himself down in the wooden chair, feeling awkward for being there as a guest, when he’d just been an employee only a month ago. And the sheriff’s kid all of his life before that.

“Look, Stiles. I’m so sorry about all of this. Your mother—“

“Dad, it’s fine. There’s nothing you could’ve done.”

His dad had that look on his face that Stiles liked to call his ‘worried dad’ look, scrubbing his hand over his jaw like he was tired even though it was only one in the afternoon. “Your mother never was one for details,” he said, laughing slightly. “Remember that one time she didn’t pick me up at the airport because she thought it was the next week I was coming back? And I had to wait for both of you to wake up the next morning before you even answered the phone.”

“Or how about when she thought you didn’t really need baking soda to make cornbread? Those things tasted like hockey pucks.” Stiles giggled at the memory, still vividly picturing the way his dad had discreetly spit everything into a napkin and told her it was the best thing he’d ever tasted.

“I sure do miss her,” the sheriff said quietly and Stiles grew somber as well.

“Me too, dad.”

Footsteps behind him made Stiles look up, and he saw Derek standing there in the doorway looking apologetic.

“Hey,” Derek said, nodding at both of them. “Saw your car. How’d the hearing go?”

“Yeah. How I expected. The next one’s in two weeks.”

“Okay, great. That’s good news.”

Stiles nodded mutely, feeling less happy about the whole thing than he had a couple of minutes ago. Here he was, making a mockery of marriage when his parents had had it all. And now his dad had nothing. Stiles wasn’t even going to have babies or anything, and would be stuck in a loveless fake relationship for the rest of his life. He felt a disappointing wave of regret wash over himself, followed by shame for even thinking that thought with Derek standing right there looking so earnest.

“Alright, well I have to get back to it. See you at home?”

“Okay, sounds good,” Stiles said, forcing his voice to sound chipper and wincing at the hollowness of it.

Derek nodded absently and slipped away without another word, and Stiles tried to avoid the look his father was giving him. Because his dad knew him a little _too_ well, though he mostly knew when to be tactful and not mention things that Stiles would not react well to. His feelings on Derek Hale being one of them.

“Are you alright, son?” the sheriff asked, and Stiles stood, pushing his hands in his pocket and smiling even though he felt like dirt for basically lying to his dad.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Derek…” the sheriff said, trailing off and glancing out the door.

“I’m fine, Dad. It’ll all be fine.”

“Alright, but—”

“It’s fine!”

His dad leaned back in his desk, the irritated father vibe increasing tenfold. “You’re always gonna be my son, Stiles. No matter how old you are. And you know I care about your happiness.”

“My happiness will be happy when I’m not deported. And back here working. That’s it. Everything else, you know.” Stiles waved his hands for emphasis, mostly meaning the stuff with Derek. “Everything else will be fine.”

“I just don’t want you to get your heart broken.”

Crap. His dad was way more perceptive than Stiles had given him credit for. Then again, he _had_ caught onto every single scheme Stiles and Scott had ever tried to pull in middle school, so he should’ve expected more.

“I won’t, Dad,” Stiles said, swallowing thickly, because he knew he couldn’t promise that at all. “I’ll take care of myself.”

“Maybe you should tell Derek.”

“Nope. No way, padre. It’ll ruin everything.” 

The sheriff frowned again, putting his glasses back on and then sorting through the papers on his desk. “Fine, fine. Don’t listen to your old man. I just love you and care about you.” He pulled out a post-it from beneath one of his reports and waved it at Stiles who took it carefully. “I had an epiphany yesterday when talking to Aunt Margie. Your mother’s step-mother is still nearby, the one we never talk to because your mother thought she was the devil incarnate. I dug around for her number. Aunt Margie thinks she may have some family documents that might help you out.”

Stiles looked at the paper with renewed interest. He’d never even met the bat— at least not since the age of seven or so— but he’d be willing to put up with _anything_ if he could maybe find some new information to prove he was an actual US citizen. And then he could end his marriage with Derek. Which Stiles was happy about. Sure he was. Well Derek would be happy, anyways. “Thanks, Dad.”

“Think about what I said,” the sheriff called as Stiles turned around.

“Yeah, sure,” Stiles agreed hurriedly, giving a wave and glancing around to see if Derek was still in the room. He wasn’t, and Stiles went straight home to give old Satan a call.

***

Satan smoked like a chimney and wore a camouflage robe that was probably from 1967, but Stiles was able to escape with only a glass of lemonade and two stale cookies mostly swallowed, not chewed. Plus he found an entire box of his mother’s things that he had briefly looked through and decided to take home with him. Funny how home was now his and Derek’s apartment, and not the place that he’d had to let the rent lapse on. He should probably organize his things a little better in his dad’s garage, rather than just occupy the entire left side and make his dad park in the driveway.

“Hey, what’s that?” Derek asked as he grabbed a beer from the fridge, pulling out a second one for Stiles and popping open the top.

Stiles was elbows deep in the box, coughing slightly when a new cloud of dust puffed out the top as he shifted the papers around.

“Stuff of my mom’s,” Stiles said, pulling out a sepia-toned photo he’d never seen before. It was worn around the edges and had a small girl seated in the middle of the photo, some of the colors vivid and hand-painted in.

Derek set the beers down on the end table so he wouldn’t get any of the papers wet, looking over tentatively, like he didn’t want to intrude.

“I think this is her when she was around four or so. Check out the spiky hair-do!”

Derek laughed a little, his fingers coming up to ruffle the top of Stiles’ hair and lingering just a little longer than necessary. Though how necessary was hair touching among friends, really? 

“You have her nose,” Derek said easily, his arm falling on the back of the couch. Stiles sat a little stiffer, knowing that if he leaned back he’d be right up against Derek’s forearm.

“Mmm,” he said, shuffling through more papers and setting a few of them to the side. “These don’t seem to be in any type of order.” He pulled out a few more pictures, some of his mother ice skating, and one of her with an award, standing proudly next to her father. Stiles had never known either of his grandparents and it was bittersweet to be looking through his mother’s memories.

“Most of our pictures got lost, you know,” Derek said absently, drinking his beer but looking to the side. “In the fire.” Stiles could see that his eyes were duller, his posture rigid, and Stiles nodded, not knowing what to say. The Hale fire was public knowledge, but Derek had never brought it up before so Stiles figured he'd let Derek continue if he felt like it and not push him.

They were silent for a bit while Stiles organized, trying to put everything in chronological order and ending up making big piles that covered both the table and the floor. At the very bottom of the box was a manila envelope, and when Stiles saw his birth name in his mother’s scrawled writing, his heartbeat began to pick up a little though he tried to breathe in deeply so as to not alert Derek to anything.

Derek was watching TV for the moment and Stiles unwound the string on the envelope and pulled it open, sliding out a big stack of papers. And jackpot! Every report card from Stiles’ elementary years, a social security number form, and his mother’s application for his citizenship. Stiles looked it over carefully, not even sure what kind of mistake he thought he’d find, but seeing nothing out of place. He’d have to show it to the lawyer to see what they’d say, but he had a hunch that this was the exact thing they’d been looking for.

He found himself sliding the papers back into the envelope as quietly as he could, for some reason wanting to keep this from Derek. He knew it was a bit selfish, but if this was going to really pan out, he’d have to tell Derek that they could stop this whatever it was they were doing. And the more Stiles thought about it, the more he didn’t want to tell Derek.

Maybe he could just get his citizenship straightened out and not ever tell. And they could just stay married anyways and Derek would be none the wiser. Maybe Stiles was insane and Derek would kill him once he found out. Maybe Stiles should just buck up and show him the fricken paper.

Well, it wasn’t like it meant anything, yet, Stiles rationalized to himself. He’d just show the lawyer and figure out what was up. And _then_ he’d tell Derek. Right. Good plan.

***

It _was_ a good plan, right up until Stiles woke up snuggled into Derek’s side two days later, the large hairy arm weighing him down pleasantly, even though it made Stiles’ skin kind of sweat.

He shoved lightly at the appendage, glancing at Derek’s sleeping face, throat growing dry when Derek murmured and hugged him closer. Derek nuzzled his face right into Stiles’ shoulder, the rasp of his beard a little rougher than Stiles had imagined. 

And _holy shit_ , that was Derek’s dick right there, hard against Stiles’ hip. Stiles tried to twist away but was still caught in Derek’s grasp, the bit of struggling making himself chub up to full hardness. And oh god, what if Derek woke up right now, what if he just opened his eyes and was like, Stiles, get out.

Even as he was thinking the words, Derek’s eyelashes fluttered and Stiles seized up, like if he could remain still enough Derek would just drift back to sleep and Stiles could squeeze out from under his muscular arm. But Derek’s breath turned into that tell-tale snuffling and he was blinking his eyes open, focusing on Stiles with confusion but leaving his arm firmly wrapped around Stiles’ waist.

“Hi there,” Stiles said, because things just blurted from his lips without thought.

Derek closed his eyes and stretched, his hand loose on Stiles’ hip and dipping just a little bit lower, making Stiles squirm. There was a bit of push and pull but then Stiles was able to slip out from under Derek’s arm, scooching back a safe distance and praying to god that Derek hadn’t felt his hard-on.

“Sorry,” Derek murmured, voice thick with sleep and eyes heavy-lidded. “Sometimes my hands wander during sleep. I’ve been trying to hold it back.”

Stiles nodded like that was a completely normal thing to say between friends, before wondering about the ‘holding it back’ part of that sentence. Did Derek have to hold himself back from cuddling Stiles? 

“Nah, it’s alright,” Stiles said, tugging the blankets around him and trying to fluff them up so the outline of his body wasn’t visible. “I don’t mind.” And then his brain caught up with what he’d said, and he wanted to hit himself upside the head. “I mean. I mean it’s fine.”

Derek smiled softly, the morning taking off some of his rough edges, and Stiles watched as the light played across his muscled chest as he rolled over and reached his hand out, his fingertips just touching Stiles’ forearm. And in that moment Stiles knew that he had to tell Derek. 

“Look, we have to talk,” he said quickly before he changed his mind, his stomach sinking down near his knees.

And that made Derek frown again, face shaping into the drawn look that Stiles was so used to seeing, and he withdrew his fingertips slightly so they were no longer touching. Stiles swallowed but barreled on ahead, because he owed this to Derek and if he ever wanted to be… honest with Derek… and possibly start something real, he’d have to tell the truth. The thought was frightening. “I think I found the paperwork that my mom was missing or whatever. I sent it to the lawyer yesterday. Nothing’s official but, I think that might be what I need to let you off the hook.”

A series of emotions crossed Derek’s face that Stiles could not identify at all, but the blank mask as Derek stared at the ceiling Stiles recognized as the one where Derek would not be talking much.

“Cool. I’m happy for you,” Derek said, and Stiles thought he heard a trace of _something_ there… was it disappointment? No, that would just be wishful thinking on Stiles’ part.

“Yeah, so like, it might be a bit ‘cause there’s still the second hearing and everything, but… I probably don’t have to sleep in the same bed as you.”

Derek nodded, hand coming up to rest behind his head thoughtfully and Stiles waited what seemed like a life-age for Derek to talk. “You can stay here as long as you want. I know you don’t have your apartment anymore. And all your stuff’s here.”

“Thanks,” Stiles said, feeling tears start to well up stupidly, and he didn’t even know why. Why was Derek being so great to him and so perfect and why was this all fake and on top of that going to _end_ right now?

And then Stiles sat straight up in bed, confidence overwhelming him as a sudden idea flared in his mind. “Could I maybe, uh, take you out tonight? To say thanks. Because you’ve been really great, and, seriously, I don’t even deserve to be your fake anything.” And maybe Stiles could, you know, confess his love, or something equally terrifying.

“You’re ridiculous, Stiles.” 

“Yes, I know,” Stiles said plainly, because he’d come to terms with that years ago. “So yes? No?”

Derek smiled again, some of the awkwardness from the last few minutes dissipating with the easy rasp of his hand over his beard. “It’s a date.”

And though they’d gone on several other “dates” before, including their freaken honeymoon— albeit it was a one night stay at a Motel 6—, the words had never before inspired Stiles to be so gut-wrenchingly nervous.

***

So Stiles knew it was completely lame, but pizza and beer seemed appropriate for their first real date, even though Derek didn’t exactly know that’s what it was.

“This is where I proposed to you,” Stiles explained with a grin when Derek had given him a questioning look. Stiles sucked down his first beer quickly due to his nerves, but being with Derek was easy, really. Even the fake stuff was hard to put away, and when Derek grabbed his hand over the table Stiles yelped accidentally and slipped his hand out and grabbed onto the tablecloth.

“Everything alright?” Derek asked after the waitress left with their menus, and Stiles felt his pulse skyrocket because this was the moment.

“Look, Derek. I can’t even… like… you saved my skinny ass from deportation. I can’t throw you enough parties for that, because you totally didn’t have to, and up until like two months ago I really thought you hated my guts. But it turns out you’re not terrible and even though you have appalling taste in junk food you’re like, super nice and, you know, an awesome husband and stuff. And now that it’s going to be over soon…” And he took a huge breath cause here was the kicker. “I kind of don’t want it to be. Over.”

Derek had paused mid-sip of his beer, and when he set it down Stiles felt his heart swell when he saw the little bit of foam caught on his whiskers right above his lips.

“Like, it’s not normal for two people to know what they look like when they go to sleep and when they wake up. And you know, it’s been doing things to me. Weird, fuzzy things. You know?” Stiles had to bite his tongue to keep the words from spilling out, knowing he had to give Derek proper time to reject him because he wasn’t the type to just butt into Stiles’ word vomit.

Derek set down his beer mug and licked at his lips in an inhumanly beautiful way. “What are you saying?”

“I’m um… I’m saying…” Stiles sucked in a huge breath and then let it out, laughed and then dropped his hands to his lap. “I’m saying that I like you. And I brought you here, yes, to say thank you. But also, you know.” He waved his hands at the beer and the non-existent pizza. “To propose.”

Derek’s eyebrows shot up, and Stiles backpedaled quickly. “Propose that we date!” And then he turned beet red, because he’d just put it all out there, and holy crap he wasn’t very articulate, but at least he’d said what he’d wanted to say and hadn’t chickened out.

Once again, Derek seemed to take his time mulling it over and Stiles watched the small candle flicker on the table so he didn’t die from nervous energy throttling around in his chest. 

“I dont know why you're so insistent that I hated your guts, Stiles,” Derek said, like he was a bit confused, and that wasn’t the answer Stiles was really going for, but Derek looked like he was going to continue so Stiles decided to stay his tongue for once. “I just thought that you, you know. It’s all been an act right?”

Stiles felt his heart tighten, his body gearing up for the big letdown. “Well, yeah, I mean, we’ve been acting, but… Can’t you hear my heartbeat hammering away like I might die everytime we kiss? Or when you touch my hand? Or when you do something nice for me?”

Derek’s hand reached across the table again, pinning down Stiles’ anxiously tapping fingers and then pulling him over so Derek could rub his thumb over the sweaty palm. Derek looked very serious, his other hand moving to join the first, like he was giving Stiles a palm reading or something.

“Yeah, but. Honestly you're a nervous guy. Your heartbeat skyrockets when you hear the lotto numbers and you don't even play."

Stiles grimaced, embarrassed, feeling like maybe he should've just kept his mouth shut because apparently Derek had no idea how he made Stiles' heart go pitter patter. 

“I heard you in the shower.”

“Oh, god,” Stiles muttered, trying to yank his hand back from Derek, but the big oaf was holding onto him tight.

“I just.” Derek laughed a little. “I thought _you_ hated _me_. You’re always complaining about my soap and how I wake you up too early. And you don’t like my sweaters.”

“I, er. Well. I do do those things. Sorry.”

Derek raised his eyebrows in a kind of annoying I-told-you-so way, and Stiles weaseled his hand out of Derek’s grip and crossed his arms. 

“They were done out of love?”

Sitting forward, Derek tilted his head at Stiles, his eyebrows all judgement. “So you’re saying you were trying to flirt like you were in first grade?”

“Well.” Stiles' eyes slid to the tablecloth, then Derek's beer glass, watching two beads of condensation to see which would drip first.

“And how old are you Stiles?” 

Stiles couldn't hold back a wince at that. Because now Derek's _voice_ was judging him too. “What’s your point?”

“You could’ve just said something.”

“Said something! And what, have you just laugh at me?” Stiles was aware his hands were flailing but there wasn't really anything he could do to stop them at this point. It was like perpetual motion or something. Hands mid-flail stay mid-flail until acted upon by an outside force.

“So instead you drew it out and let me cuddle you and later jerk off to that line of moles that goes down into your underwear and stew thinking that you actually _did_ hate me?”

Stiles paused, not even comprehending what Derek was saying. “Yes?”

And then Derek laughed, full out with his eyes crinkling on the sides, and Stiles kind of chuckled along with him until he was grabbing his sides and nearly crying. 

“Stiles. You _are_ ridiculous.”

“I told you so!”

“Alright. Fine. Yes. Dating. I mean, could it get any worse than this?”

And Stiles felt a thousand-watt smile slide across his face, and he fought the urge to fist pump, because _holy crap_ , Derek had said yes! In sort of a grumpy way, but who cared, really?

“Haha!” Stiles crowed. “You’re stuck with me now. Not like you weren’t before, you know. “

“Well, haven’t we been dating already, anyhow?” Derek said, leaning back as the waitress came by with their pizza and placed it in front of them. Stiles was so excited he nearly flung the spatula in the air when she handed it to him, but then he giggled like an idiot when Derek took it away from him and served him a heaping slice of pepperoni.

“Yeah, but like. I mean, I know what toothpaste you use and who you text and how you like your coffee, but. But you know. There’s a lot more to actual relationships.”

“Like what. Kissing?”

Stiles flushed further, trying to spoon some errant cheese onto his plate and getting flustered. “Yes, there’s that. Kissing,” Stiles said, nodding resolutely and taking a bite of his pizza. He could chew and have a rational conversation about this. He was an adult, after all. Talking about dating his husband. To his husband. “And you’ve seen my embarrassing baby photos and all.”

“How would the bedroom stuff work? Do you still wanna...?” Derek trailed off, taking another sip of beer.

“Well I’ve heard married sex is pretty boring, but, I guess I’d try it out with you,” Stiles said cheekily, and he hadn’t thought he could turn any redder, but he felt all the blood in his body rush to his face, because all of the sudden he was talking about sex with Derek, and crap he’d gone too far.

But Derek laughed, throaty and light, and the sound eased the constriction in Stiles’ chest. “I don’t really put out on the first date. You know, unlike you.”

Stiles snorted. “This is like our twentieth at least, Der.”

“Yeah,” Derek said easily. “Probably like the seventh, but close enough.”

“We’ll take it slow,” Stiles promised. “Because, I don’t know. This will be weird otherwise.”

“Isn’t it weird already?”

Stiles gave a little laugh, thrilling when Derek’s foot came up to nudge against his own and he nudged back. “Yeah, but like, everything in my life is weird. Sleeping next to you but not sleeping with you has been super weird. Like, I don’t know about you, but I don’t normally do that sort of thing. Normally there’s sex involved if I’m sleeping in the same bed as a hot guy.”

“Am I a hot guy, Stiles?” Derek asked with a waggle to his eyebrows and Stiles reached for the pizza, feeling like the difficult part of the conversation was over. Even though Derek was now acting like an ass just to irritate him. But _that_ type of thing was definitely Stiles’ comfort zone.

“Oh, shut up. You know you are.”

“So will it be not weird now if we sleep next to each other but no sex?” 

“Um, nope. That will still be pretty weird. I’m voting a lifting of the no-sex embargo. All sex. All the sex is good.” After he’d blurted the words out Stiles freaked for a moment, wondering if he would scare Derek away with all of his sex talk, because they had just agreed to starting dating and he didn’t want to make it seem like _all_ he wanted was sex. Because he wanted a lot more than that, too. “But we can take it slower, too, if you want. Slow is good. All the slow. Good.”

But Derek didn’t seem thrown and Stiles was ridiculously grateful for all those practice times now, of Derek rolling his eyes at him, but really knowing what Stiles was trying to say. And really, actually liking it. Liking him. Holy crap. 

“Slow sounds nice, too. Let’s just see what happens, okay?” Derek said.

“Okay.” Stiles smiled, and they clinked their mugs together. And that sounded like a promise that Stiles would be thrilled to keep.

On the way out of the restaurant, Derek grabbed Stiles’ hand and suddenly they were up against the brick wall, Derek’s breath warm on Stiles’ cheek.

“We’ve kissed before, Stiles,” Derek said smugly, like he knew exactly what he was doing to Stiles’ poor muddled brain.

“Yeah. But, it didn’t mean anything before,” Stiles whispered, heart beating loudly in his chest. Derek’s hands had been on his neck before, had cupped his cheek, but this time it was so _different_ because they didn’t _have_ to be doing it. Because Derek _wanted_ to be touching him.

The kiss was sweet, brief, their foreheads touching at the end of it until Stiles burst out giggling.

“Come on, let’s go home, my hella fine husband,” Stiles said, feeling light as a feather, the whole thing still preposterous to him.

Derek released him but kept Stiles’ hand tight in his the whole walk back to the car.

***

The promise to take it slow lasted for all of about five minutes, after Derek had put the leftover pizza in the fridge and turned to ask Stiles a question.

Stiles was too close, though, about to sneak past Derek for the beer, and when he turned around they were nose to nose and in each other’s space. After a moment Derek leaned forward and closed the distance, lips starting off gentle but parting quickly, letting Stiles’ tongue slide against his as his hands moved to wrap around Stiles’ waist.

Stiles tried to take his time exploring, hands running everywhere he wasn’t allowed to before, squeezing Derek’s pecs and biceps, feeling down his back, dipping into the back of Derek’s waistband. And when Derek picked him up and set him on the kitchen counter, Stiles laughed and wrapped his legs around Derek’s waist, drawing him close and capturing Derek’s hand as he reached for his neck.

Stiles kissed the fingertips and then brought Derek’s hand over his heart, holding it still there even though it made his heart thump-thump all the harder.

“Do you believe me now?” Stiles said, dropping his eyes shyly and biting into his bottom lip. Derek was still for a moment, listening with his head turned sideways, and then he moved closer between Stiles’ spread thighs, right until their chests were pressed together and Derek’s nose was buried beneath Stiles’ ear. It made Stiles’ cheek grow tickly and he arched his back, grinding up inadvertently into Derek’s hard body and practically groaning.

“Yes,” he said, and Stiles knew Derek wasn’t much for words or declarations or anything flowery, but the simple acknowledgment was quite enough for him. They kissed with renewed vigor, Stiles trying to wriggle his hands between their bodies and get at Derek’s fly, but they were squished too closely together for him to get at the button.

“Bed,” Stiles murmured against Derek’s lips, whooping gleefully when Derek picked him up and carried him across the kitchen and over to the spiral staircase. Derek didn’t like to show off his superhuman strength too often—though he was a fan of the excessively tight tank top, praise the lord—and it was definitely doing pleasant things for Stiles in the pants area.

They managed to make it up the stairs in one piece, Stiles only shrieking once when Derek fake dropped him near the top, and then they were falling down onto the bed and rolling around on top of the unmade sheets.

“Who’s gonna… who’s gonna top?” Stiles said breathlessly as he wriggled around beneath Derek’s heavy weight and tried to flip their positions. He supposed this was maybe a conversation people had before this stage of the game normally, but he and Derek were definitely not doing things by the book here. “Or, er. Do you? I kind of switch, but really, I would not say no to you just plowing into me right now.”

Derek’s cheeks were red, his eyes slightly glazed over, and it was a damn good look on him. He blinked a few times like Stiles’ words were just registering, and he opened his mouth and licked his lips. “Yeah, I. I like both.”

“Great!” Stiles said, popping up from the bed and grabbing for his wallet that had fallen out of his jeans pocket. “I think I have a quarter. Let’s flip!”

At Derek’s drawn eyebrows, Stiles’ face fell slightly. “Is that not very romantic? Am I ruining things with coin flips here?”

Derek reached his hand out and suddenly Stiles was back on his lap, being kissed fiercely with Derek’s hands hot under his shirt and plucking at his nipples. Stiles shuddered at the touch, holding onto Derek’s shoulders and trying to decide what he wanted more in this case. It was a tough call, really, but Derek was Derek, and sex with Derek was going to be amazing either way.

“No, it’s a very Stiles thing to do. Heads or tails?” And he took the coin from Stiles, propping himself up against the headboard and getting ready to flip.

“Heads. Tails. No, no heads,” Stiles decided, and when the coin flipped and Derek caught it deftly, they both looked down at his hand with excitement.

“Heads,” Derek said, and if he was disappointed, Stiles couldn’t tell at all. “Guess that means I’ll have to get your dick good and slick if you’re going to fuck me proper.”

Stiles groaned at the words, excited for a lifetime of Derek’s dirty talk. Or, you know, at least some more of it. He shouldn’t be getting ahead of himself here. “Yeah, that’s right, baby. You thought about my dick inside of you?”

Derek answered by pinning Stiles down to the bed, tugging his shirt off efficiently but leaving it wrapped around his wrists, and then yanking down Stiles’ pants to his knees. Stiles writhed there, exposed, while Derek smirked at him completely clothed and smug looking.

“Yeah,” Derek said, getting down to his hands and knees and running his nose over the underside of Stiles’ cock, following it by a solid lick that ended right at the tip. Stiles closed his eyes and shuddered at the sensations, full out squealing when Derek took the whole thing in his mouth and sucked while his fingers worked deftly at the base before sliding down to cup Stiles’ balls. Derek pulled off and gently rubbed his beard over Stiles’ thighs, his voice honey-sweet and rough at the same time, making Stiles’ toes curl. “It’s been a while though. You’ll have to take your time stretching me.”

Derek let go then, and Stiles whimpered, but took the time to wrestle out of his shirt and pants as Derek pulled off his own clothes. And Stiles had seen the man practically naked, so it wasn’t like this was a new thing to him at all, but his throat grew absolutely dry when Derek’s hand lingered along the waistband of his boxers like a fucking tease. When he pulled them down Stiles watched in fascination as Derek’s cock bobbed upward, flushed a beautiful red color, the tip shiny. He was big, as big as Stiles had imagined and well, felt, that one time, and he swallowed thickly.

“No, I take it back. You fuck me first.”

Derek stroked himself once, and Stiles watched the head disappear into the foreskin, suddenly wanting to taste him so badly to see what it would be like. Derek probably tasted like rainbows and cotton candy, though with all his stupid health food, that was likely to be pretty accurate.

Stiles reached out, wrapping his hand around Derek’s, the two of them jacking him off slowly while Stiles struggled back onto his knees. They kissed sloppily, Stiles vibrating with enthusiasm and joy as Derek moved their bodies closer and then grasped both of their cocks with one big, paw-like hand.

“I don’t. I’m gonna come too soon,” Stiles whined into Derek’s mouth, and he strained against Derek when he pushed on Stiles’ shoulders and then fell gracelessly to the bed.

“We’ve got time, Stiles,” Derek said, kissing Stiles quickly before shuffling down and taking Stiles’ cock as deep as he could into his mouth. He worked him over quickly and Stiles had to close his eyes, because the absolute hotness of Derek Hale taking Stiles’ dick down his throat like a pro was the stuff of Stiles’ fantasies, and Stiles fought not to fist his hand in Derek’s hair as he felt himself shuddering nearer and nearer to his orgasm.

A few more sucks and Derek’s dry finger against his hole had Stiles there anyways, his body tightening up as he felt a rash of heat sweep over him. Derek’s hot mouth was perfect on him, the warmth amazing as Stiles spurted out, watching Derek’s throat work him and swallow and _holy fuck_ was that a good orgasm.

It was like all the bones were gone from his body and when Derek pulled off Stiles shuddered, hardly able to twitch his fingers, but giving Derek a humongous grin.

“I think I made out in this deal,” he said, laughing and trying to get his arms to move but only able to flop one over his eyes. Derek had shuffled up the bed and was lying on his side, and Stiles peeked out from under his arm to see his shiny red lips and gorgeous, anxious face. 

“I get you. Who not only is a great husband but also great at giving head. Plus, you know, you’re nice to me too. All you get is me.”

“I like you, Stiles,” Derek said, and Stiles had to close his eyes again and grab onto Derek’s wrist, because he thought he might float away from feeling way too light for this world.

“I like you, too.”

“Well I’m glad we got that settled.”

“Definitely,” Stiles said. He wriggled his fingers, feeling like he was over his orgasm haze enough to make his limbs work again, and then he rolled over quickly, caging Derek in with his arms and grinning like he’d won the lottery. “Alright, my turn, Der Bear.”

Derek rolled his eyes, but he stopped complaining once Stiles swallowed him down as far as he could go and then started to _hum_.

***

Stiles was half-worried the morning after would be awkward like it normally was, with someone trying to sneak off to the bathroom and not wake the other. But he’d forgotten that he’d slept with Derek too many times now to count, that he was used to his quiet snoring, and his cold toes, and the way he stole the blankets. It was second nature to scoot away when Derek’s hand reached for him, Derek still most of the way asleep, but Stiles took a deep breath and then slid in closer, letting Derek’s arm wrap around him. The weight was comforting, Derek warm, and though it was brighter than Stiles’ would have liked at 7:30 a.m., it was worth it. Derek was worth it. He’d convince him to buy shades eventually.

***

“Married sex is awesome,” Stiles announced, oblivious to the way Scott was trying to ignore him resolutely. “You should totally try it.” Scott had been home from vet school for a few months now, and frankly Stiles didn’t care if he was talking about Derek a lot. And marriage. And married sex with Derek. Scott could deal with it.

“Stiles, seriously, dude. This fake marriage thing has probably only worked out once ever in the history of fake marriages. And it was you. I don’t think I should push my luck on this one.”

“Fine, fine, suit yourself. I get off in twenty minutes, so if you want to go hang out in the break room, I’ll be there soon. Just don’t eat the chocolate frosted doughnut or Derek will get mad.”

Scott shook his head, muttering something about old married couples, and Stiles did his best to clean up his desk, even filing Parrish’s reports because he was just nice like that. He met Scott in the break room, having to steal back the plain cake doughnut from his dad and crossing his arms to give them both a stern look.

“I leave you alone for one second.”

His dad shrugged and brushed the crumbs off his uniform. “You ready for this, son?” His dad was holding both of their suits, still in their dry-cleaning bags, and he held out Stiles’ for him after first making sure there was no chocolate frosting on his fingers.

Stiles nodded, nervous suddenly though he had no reason to be. “Yep. Ready to make this thing official!”

Scott laughed, and Stiles joined him, because of course it had been official for twelve whole months now, but the term meant a little something different now. But a vow renewal which actually meant something was a big step, the biggest he and Derek could take, considering they were already legally married. Stiles positively vibrated with excitement.

This time it was Scott and the sheriff in the car with Stiles, and when they got to the neighborhood park, Stiles’ stomach fluttered as he saw Derek standing under a tree looking uncomfortable with Cora trying to straighten his tie. Stiles had changed in the work bathroom, the same suit as last time, the same nervous wriggle of his limbs, but his heart feeling a million times lighter.

“Hey, big guy,” Stiles said as he walked up to Derek, giving him a once over and an overly showy wink.

“Hey, pudding pop,” Derek replied, cracking a small, hesitant smile. 

Stiles laughed loudly, grabbing Derek’s hand and tugging him over so their arms were brushing. The afternoon sun was warm, Stiles’ skin a little clammy beneath his undershirt and suit jacket, and Derek’s hand was sweaty in his own. Stiles gave him a squeeze, his heart thumping when Derek squeezed back lightly and leaned down to give him a quick peck on the lips.

“So glad we’re married. And staying married,” Stiles whispered, the air warm between their lips.

“Me too,” Derek answered, and Stiles darted forward for one more quick kiss.

Cora cleared her throat and smoothed out her piece of paper, trying to look somber and sanctimonious and making Stiles burst out laughing again. She did succeed in causing them both to square off and face her with Scott and the sheriff off to the side, Stiles catching his dad’s eye and trying not to grin like too much of an idiot.

“Are you ready to begin?” she asked, looking them over and arching her Hale eyebrow and Stiles sobered up, nodding solemnly.

“Yes,” Derek said, squeezing Stiles hand resolutely again and giving him a soft smile. It wasn’t the white tuxedo of Stiles' dreams, but Derek still looked gorgeous and beautiful, and was standing there right next to Stiles, ready to profess everything to the whole world.

Stiles squeezed back hard, swallowing and then smiling nervously. “Yes.” He was ready to begin.

**Author's Note:**

> I am on tumblr as [badwolfbadwolf](http://badwolfbadwolf.tumblr.com)!


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